


the jigsaw blown apart

by FangedAngel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Comeplay, Deepthroating, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/FangedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's been aware of the tension between the three of them for a while, but it only unravels when Louis asks Zayn to tattoo Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the jigsaw blown apart

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this since July, and it ended up turning into utter filth. No regrets.  
> Title from IAMX's 'Ghosts of Utopia' because at one point I could only stare at the screen whispering 'this is psychosis, this is psychosis, this is psychosis' over and over again. Cheers for that, fic.

  
[](http://s1236.beta.photobucket.com/user/ethicalmadness/library/)   


Noise is gathering around him, a deafening avalanche that he fights off with all the tension in his shoulders. He focuses on the hum of the machine in his hand, the portable ink gun his fingers are leaving damp prints on, and on the sobering scent of the spirit he'd used to rub skin clean. He keeps the noise at bay, the noise that threatens to break him, distract him. He focuses on Harry's arm, on the needle tracing lines in the crook of Harry's elbow, bold, bolder still. He can't look at Harry, can't look at Louis, can barely acknowledge their presence, because if he does his work will be lost, rendered futile, because there is no way his mind can cope with the image of the two of them, with the sound of the two of them, there is no way he'll be able to hold on to even a semblance of control.  


He doesn't know what he was thinking when he agreed to this, why he ever thought he would be able to do it, to etch this tiny bold letter into Harry's - Harry's! - skin without losing his fucking mind. If he’s honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he probably wasn't thinking at all, not with Louis' voice in his ear, a heated press of intimacy, the whisper of desire on his skin making him shiver. They'd watched him watching them, on many, many occasions, they'd watched him longing for them, and Zayn had become used to the status quo, to watching them from afar, and hearing them from afar, and perhaps, sometimes, being caught inbetween the constant tension, almost able to taste it before it was snatched away, over and over again. He’s ended up standing in between them more times than what was particularly healthy, either touching one or the other without permission, bending the limits, provoking them, taunting them, hoping for them.  


There's a drop of sweat trickling down his temple, and he squints, fighting the urge to rub at his face, the urge to inhale to remind himself that he can breathe, that he's not, in fact, slowly being suffocated by the heavy, choking atmosphere in the room. A muscle's jumping in his thigh, his body protesting the tension, trying to relax and failing. Zayn doesn't know how he manages to keep going, because there's no logical train of thought in his mind anymore, there's just a buzz, static, just black ink on pale skin, Harry's pulse point jumping, stuttering, under Zayn's thumb, where Zayn is holding his wrist down with his free hand. He keeps tracing lines, dark, darker, trying to breathe, trying to think, struggling with himself to the point of pain.  


And then he looks up, barely a glance, and he's thankful that he takes the needle away from Harry's skin on instinct before he does, because his jaw loosens while his fingers tighten their grip on the ink gun, redder still under his hold. The noises they're making come crashing down on him, and it's over, the battle is lost, all pretence out the window. He doesn't know why Louis trusted him with this, why Louis is putting him to the test like this, but then he notices that Harry's also having trouble breathing, gasping, choking on air, lips parted and wet with either Louis' spit or his own, the makeshift blindfold seeming so dark against his skin. Zayn can't stop looking, even though he can feel his heart bruising his ribs, even though he can't breathe, even though he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be here. Louis looks at him, meets his eyes, and Zayn desperately wishes for the pack of cigarettes he's left in his jacket, in his room, because he has no idea what that look means, has no idea how Louis' eyes seem so dark now when they are usually so bright. Louis looks at him, and presses his fingers to Harry's parted lips before trailing them, wet, down Harry's neck, his collarbone, his torso, stopping to circle around his navel, predatory, teasing, cruel, tracing the waistband of Harry's pants, another black line against pale skin. Louis holds Zayn's gaze through all of it, making a shushing noise that is aimed at Harry when Harry tenses, seems to want to arch up into the touch, demand more.  


‘Hold still, love, or you'll ruin what Zayn's doing to you. We don't want that, do we?’  


Harry can't seem to find enough oxygen to reply, and Louis' eyes turn to him, sharp, watching the way Harry bites at his lip while Zayn watches him, watches them both.  


‘Harry.’  


Louis' voice seems to cut through both of them, crystal-edged, deadly, and Zayn watches Harry fighting for breath in his haste to reply.  


‘No, I- I'll hold still, Lou, I promise,’ and his voice is deeper than Zayn's ever heard it, low and harsh and scratchy.  


‘I know you will, sweetheart,’ Louis says, and presses a quick kiss to Harry's mouth, biting down, and it seems like both reprimand and reminder, a reaction to Harry worrying his own lip. ‘Let go of him, Zayn.’  


Zayn starts at the command, a million words of protest threatening to stumble out, but silenced by disbelief. Louis looks at him, patient, unwavering, looks at Harry’s wrist under Zayn’s gloved hand, and it seems like forever until Zayn can find his voice again.  


‘If he moves, it will hurt,’ he says, tone unsteady, and it sounds pathetic in the heated, airless space created between the three of them, but he can’t deal with the possibility of hurting Harry, and he has to say it.  


He expects Louis to snap at him, but his eyes seem to soften instead, making him seem more like the everyday Louis that Zayn is used to seeing, instead of the Louis that is only reserved for Harry, for this, this thing between them that is kept away from everyone else, this thing between them that Zayn is, for some reason, allowed to witness.  


‘He can do this. You have to trust me,’ Louis says, his palm reaching out, finding Zayn’s cheek, warm skin pressing to warm skin.  


Zayn inhales, exhales, eyes closing for half a second before opening again, meeting Louis’ and nodding, because Zayn knows, he’ll always know, that Louis will be the one who protects Harry most fiercely out of them all, that Louis will be the only one who knows everything Harry wants, everything Harry needs.  


A questioning sound comes from Harry, and Zayn and Louis look at him at the same time, Louis moving closer to Harry again, his body offering an illusory sort of comfort, leaning over Harry to press kisses to the material covering Harry’s eyes, the scarf that Zayn offered up when Louis made his wish for a blindfold known.  


Zayn can’t imagine what Harry must be feeling, deprived of sight, not knowing what will happen when, only able to feel, feel the needle on his skin, feel Louis touching him, kissing him. Zayn watches Louis tangling his fingers in Harry’s necklaces, tightening their hold around Harry’s throat until Harry is panting, until Zayn can see sweat break over his skin.  


‘Go on, Zayn,’ Louis urges, and Zayn shivers, again, letting go of Harry’s hand and turning the ink gun back on.  


It’s not too long to go now, but Zayn’s feeling that Louis will make things even more complicated is proven right when Louis moves lower, lips and teeth leaving red bursts of colour down Harry’s body. He stops at the waistband he’d traced earlier, looking at Harry, who’s sprawled underneath him, and Zayn holds his breath and steals glances at him, at them, because the task at hand cannot make any demands on his focus anymore, not with Louis like this, predatory, dangerously beautiful, not with Harry at his mercy, stunning, pliant Harry, who won’t move, who can’t move.  


Zayn marvels at Harry’s control over his body, when his own mind collapses at the sight of Louis mouthing at the bulge that Harry’s pants do nothing to hide, and Zayn’s train of thought consists solely of swearwords, a litany of _fuckfuckfuck_ , and the need to know what it feels like for Harry, what Louis’ tongue over cotton over skin feels like, what it feels like to not see, to not know, to have no control. Harry's arm is all lines of tension, and Zayn would be done with the letter he's etching into Harry's skin by now if he didn't have to stop every few seconds to wipe sweat off his forehead and look at Louis, who's using both teeth and lips to mark Harry's inner thighs now. Zayn wants to hate Louis for it, wants to lash out and regain some kind of grasp on the situation, but he can see what it's doing to Harry, who's gone well beyond any kind of coherency and who can only seem to focus on breathing and keeping his arm still. Zayn looks at Harry's parted lips, listens to the raw sounds coming from his throat, and he knows, he understands why Louis does it, but he can't help feeling that he's the one being challenged this time around. He wonders how they planned this, how they talked about it, about him. He wonders what they expect of him, what they expect his reaction to this show to be.  


Louis moves, and Zayn's focus moves with him, along the lean lines of Harry's body. Louis takes Harry's lip between his own again, and Harry moans like he can't handle any of this anymore, which is when Zayn notices that Louis' hand is cupping Harry through his pants, squeezing, merciless. Louis kisses Harry, taunting, and then laughs, pleased, pressing his forehead to Harry's, listening to him breathe before whispering to him, whispering words of encouragement that Zayn doesn't know if he's meant to be hearing. All of this feels too personal, too intimate, and Zayn knows he's not qualified to deal with this, but he also knows that they would never have asked anyone else to do something like this, he knows that this is just proof that Louis trusts him, that they both trust him enough, and he doesn't want to fail them.  


'You're doing so well, Harry, keeping still for Zayn like this, letting him work without a problem,' Louis says, his lips almost touching Harry, and Harry seems unable to do anything other than breathe the words in, gone somewhere where only Louis' voice can reach him. Zayn shivers, wishes he could see Harry's eyes again, wishes he'd know how it feels again, and when Louis keeps talking, he tries not to listen, tries to regain his focus, but it's a lost cause. 'I need you to keep being good, Harry. I'll give you more because I know you can take it, but you cannot move, or both me and Zayn will stop, and that will be that. Promise me, beautiful.'  


Zayn expects Harry to be too far gone to answer, expects him to have lost all trace of coherency, all notion on how to form words, but when Louis squeezes again, both cruelty and promise, Harry arches his neck and presses a kiss to the corner of Louis' mouth, as aware of Louis’ body as he always is, despite the blindfold.  


'I promise,' Harry says, and his voice is broken, and Zayn stops breathing for a second.  


Harry can't see the smile Louis rewards him with, but it's so warm he can probably feel it on his exposed skin, so affectionate and proud that Zayn can barely stand to be a witness to it. He looks back at the crook of Harry's elbow, and doesn't wait for Louis to order him around again before he picks up where he left off, chastising himself for the constant pauses while at the same realising that Zayn becoming distracted and taking things slower than he usually would is exactly what Louis wants.  


He doesn't look at Louis, but he can hear him moving, can feel the currents of air shifting in between them, and then Louis is kneeling between Harry's neverending legs, his hands on Harry's thighs, pressing him down into the chair. There seems to be no warning before Louis licks at the cotton again, blowing air over it and making Harry shiver, making Harry gasp, and plead with a voice that he can't seem to control anymore. Zayn knows that the repetitive lines he's tracing with the needle are most likely painful by now, a discomforting burn that he’s familiar with, but he thinks Harry's probably past feeling it, probably past being able to acknowledge anything that isn't Louis, Louis who's sucking him through his pants like it's a particularly pleasing form of inflicting torture.  


Zayn looks at Louis' hands on Harry's thighs, and knows there will be finger-shaped bruises there for days. He watches Louis loosening his grip, watches red bloom under Harry's skin, following the pattern of Louis' hold. Louis meets his eyes, while still busying himself with tasting cotton and Harry, cheeks flushed and lips wet, and Zayn realises how hard he is, realises Louis must know it as well. Zayn tries to catch his breath, but it seems impossible, and Louis smiles at him, another dangerous smile that hits Zayn with all the force of a slap.  


'I usually have to hold him down or tie him up to keep him still,' Louis says, conversationally, blowing air over Harry again, and Harry can only resort to whimpering by now. 'He loves it, needs it, really, and I love doing it, I love holding him down and feeling him fight me, for just a second, before he gives in, but this, this...I never thought he'd be able to do this.'  


Zayn doesn't think Harry is able to pay attention to Louis' words, but Louis' voice seems to soothe him, and he draws in a few shuddering breaths, trying to keep his body under control, and Zayn doesn't understand how Harry can do this, just because Louis asked him, just because Louis made him promise.  


'You're so beautiful, Harry,' Louis says, reaching out to trace Harry's cheekbone and the edge of the scarf, rubbing comforting circles on blushing skin until Harry doesn't sound like he's choking anymore. 'Isn't he beautiful, Zayn?'  


Zayn looks from Louis, kneeling in the space between Harry's legs, to Harry's red mouth, to Harry's flushed skin, to Harry's tangled curls, and he can't find his voice, so he nods instead, but Louis narrows his eyes at him, seeming displeased.  


'He can't see you, Zayn. You have to tell him.'  


Harry's need to hear it is implied in Louis' words, in the look Louis is giving Zayn, and it's that, more than the command itself, that makes Zayn react. He uses his free hand to take Harry's, uncoiling the fist it's moulded itself into and tangling their fingers together, his gloved palm pressed to Harry's damp one. He ignores the arched eyebrow that Louis gives him in exchange for the gesture, encouraged by the way Harry holds on to him, like Zayn's a lifeline.  


'You're beautiful, Harry. You're so beautiful when you're close to falling apart,' Zayn says, and his voice breaks before he can end his phrase, but he can see Louis giving him an approving look, he can feel Harry squeezing his fingers, he can hear gratitude on Harry's lips, and it's too much.  


Zayn's hand seems smaller than usual, held by Harry's, and Zayn looks at their entwined fingers as he struggles to breathe. It seems like there's no air between them, that there's just a crackling tension binding the three of them together, and Harry's pleas have all morphed into Louis' name, falling from his lips like a prayer. He doesn't let go of Zayn's hand, and Zayn doesn't let go of his, until he glances back at Louis and is met with the steeliness of his eyes and the tension in his jaw.  


'Let go of him, Zayn,' and the words are the same as before, but there's an edge to them that was absent until now.  


Zayn isn't very good at complying, so he raises his eyebrows in defiance, hoping that his face portrays the challenge he's throwing Louis adequately. He holds Harry's hand for a few more moments, moments that go by at an almost surreal place, as if they were all stuck in a dream. Harry doesn't try to take his hand away first, but Zayn isn't sure that Harry's aware of the tension between Zayn and Louis, so it doesn't mean anything; it doesn't mean that Harry's rebelling. Louis' hand is now covering Harry's hip, his fingers digging into skin in a way that can't be anything other than uncomfortable, but Harry is still caught up in his mantra of 'Louis' and 'Lou, please' and small whimpers that he can't keep from escaping him, and he's nothing but raw desperation now, with each second passing by without Louis giving him what he needs.  


Zayn looks at Harry's face, and as he watches, a tear somehow finds its way under the blindfold, and Zayn wants to taste it, so he lets go of Harry's hand, finally, and reaches out to catch the tear on the pad of his thumb. He looks back at Louis when he presses his thumb to his lips, tasting the soft saltiness of the tear, and then he grins, because he can't help it, because this whole situation is insane, and Louis looks murderous, looks like he's about to lunge at Zayn and throw him out. Instead, Louis makes a sound that sounds very similar to a growl, and fists his hand in Zayn's shirt, pulling him down and kissing him almost punishingly, licking away the trace of Harry that Zayn’d dared to steal. When Louis lets go of him, Zayn can't help but throw him an amused look that Louis meets with a disdainful flick of his fringe.  


'Finish it already, yeah?' Louis commands, again, and Zayn rolls his eyes at him, but Louis is now focused solely on Harry, Harry who's close to sobbing by now, his breath catching in his throat and more tears dampening his cheeks.  


Louis seems to wait until he hears the hum of the ink gun again to make his move, because that's when he tugs at Harry's pants to pull them down his legs, and Harry lifts his hips up to help the movement with a moan, and then Louis shushes him again, hands pinning Harry's hips down, a reminder, a warning, before he takes Harry in his mouth, going down on him with a practiced ease that Zayn finds himself almost envious of. Zayn hadn't expected Louis to be able to take this much, because they've all seen Harry naked, but Louis never does things by halves, and Zayn probably should have known better. Harry loses it then, trying to arch up, his arm tensing, fist clenching and unclenching, and it takes Louis' blunt fingernails digging into the skin next to his hipbones to still him again, and it's only then that Zayn lets the needle press down again, again, and again. He can't quite grasp how hard this whole situation makes him, how dry his mouth is, how there's sweat tickling his temples. It feels like a dream, it feels like that one time he did weed and it was too much and he could do nothing but lie there and let it take over him.  


'I can't believe I'm doing this, fucking tattooing a letter in your handwriting on Harry's arm while you're fucking blowing him, you twat, what the fuck were you thinking?' Zayn says, words just pouring out, tinged with incredulity.  


He's sure that Louis would grin at him if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied, the cocky bastard, and Zayn doesn't know who this whole evening was planned to torture more, him or Harry.  


Harry’s groaning with each line Zayn is inking into his skin now, and the whole area around Harry’s elbow is an almost impossible shade of red, and Zayn can’t think, not with the sounds Louis’ making with his mouth around Harry’s cock, not with the sounds Harry’s making in reply.  


He lets the ink gun fall to the ground when he’s done, and he inspects his work as critically as he can. He reaches into his bag for cling film to cover the tattoo, and it’s only small so it won’t need too much aftercare, but Zayn’s spent too much time disinfecting the patch of skin he’s worked on, making the air taste of rubbing alcohol, to risk it. He wants Harry to be safe, and after the conditions he’s had to do this in, he breathes a sigh of relief, until Louis stops tending to Harry with an obscene smack of his lips, ignoring the desperate sound Harry makes in favour of studying Zayn’s face like he’s looking for something specific. Zayn doesn’t know how to read whatever’s written on Louis’ face, so he takes the rest of it in, how Harry is still somehow, impossibly, still, despite the sounds spilling from his lips, the marks Louis’ left down Harry’s torso darkening, settling in, how Harry’s knuckles are white from the way his fingernails are digging into his palms. Zayn takes his gloves off and tosses them to the ground as well, trying to rub off the unfamiliar feeling that the latex has kissed into his skin.  


‘Do you want him, Harry?’ Louis asks, no trace of humour in his voice, and Zayn freezes. Louis doesn’t look at him, though, focused on Harry. He takes Harry’s right hand in his, mimicking how Zayn had uncoiled Harry’s other hand, pressing kisses to his palm, soothing, comforting. Louis’ eyes are gentle again when he looks at Harry’s face, like he’s trying to see if he can still take this, if they haven’t pushed things too far.  


‘Lou?’ Harry says, voice fragile, faltering.  


Zayn thinks Harry sounds so unsure because he’s most likely trying to understand what Louis wants him to say, what the right answer would be. Zayn thinks they probably haven’t talked about this, that Louis is bending whatever unwritten rules they have for this, and Harry doesn’t know how to react, his body rigid with tension. Louis has his hands on Harry’s hips now, fingers drawing patterns on skin again, and Zayn can see Harry’s body rebelling now, he can see the strain, he can see how Harry shakes his head, as if he were trying to get rid of the scarf covering his eyes. Zayn thinks that Harry is desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Louis’ face, and the makeshift blindfold has finally become a hindrance instead of an aid to pleasure.  


Louis moves up Harry’s body again, pressing their foreheads together again, making them breathe the same breath again, and Zayn berates himself for not saying anything, for not even moving. He feels intoxicated by the air in the room, the air that is as heavy as his need, feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again, and he desperately wishes for a cigarette or two, for a breath of the night that surrounds the hotel, for some kind of clarity in his muddled mind. He knows that he’s too far gone for reason, knows that he’ll do whatever they want, same as it’s always been, but with much higher stakes. He wonders for a second, absurdly, what Liam would say about this, and then he shakes the thought off, because he can’t deal with that now, not with Louis and Harry in front of him, Harry trying to arch his body into Louis’ and Louis holding him still.  


‘Tell me if you want him, Harry,’ and it’s nothing more than a murmur, but it rings in Zayn’s ears with deafening resonance.  


They kiss again as he watches, and while Louis is calmly collected, exuding a confidence that borders defiance, Harry is desperate, hungry, kissing Louis as if Louis were the only thing keeping him together, as if all the answers Harry seeks are written on Louis’ tongue.  


Zayn watches them breathe against each other, storing the image of their wet lips and the string of saliva connecting them until Louis' tongue slips out to taste Harry's bottom lip. He watches Louis' hands mapping the contours of Harry's body until they settle over Harry's hips again, gracefully bruising, digging into a thin layer of skin that blooms under Louis' fingers. It must hurt, but Harry arches into it, like he's seeking the feeling, like he's demanding it, and Zayn can hear a gasp that he doesn't realise is his own, and Louis meets his eyes, all-knowing, eyebrow raised, almost mocking Zayn’s moment of recognition, of understanding.  


'I'm waiting, Harry,' Louis says, like he can't be bothered to pay attention to Zayn struggling to settle on an adequate reaction, like focusing on Harry is the only thing that matters, and this, this Zayn is a witness to everyday, so it calms him, the tinge of familiarity comforting him.  


Louis' hands leave Harry's hips in favour of fanning over Harry's face, thumbs digging into the hollows under Harry's cheekbones, turning the skin dark red. Zayn wonders how green Harry's eyes must be, if they're just pupil or if there's any hint of colour left. He'd thought that he could imagine the two of them together like this, fused together and arching into each other, but his imagination's never even come close, despite all he'd thought he understood about their dynamic. Jealousy flashes in the pit of his stomach until he can taste the acidity of it on his tongue. He wants to know everything about them, wants to see them like this always, wants to break the circle that protects them and slip inside. He's so tired of always having doors slammed in his face, of always being on the outside, blind and alone.  


He can't breathe, not with the scent of Harry's flushed skin teasing him, unfamiliar in a way that the scent of Harry's shampoo is not, and Zayn stops thinking, reckless, angry, leaning over the armchair to press his nose into the side of Harry's head, next to his temple, breathing in, curls tickling at his cheeks. He presses a kiss to them, and then Louis' fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him away with a cruel twist.  


'There will be no moving until Harry answers me,' Louis says, steel in his voice and in his eyes again, fingers still curled in Zayn's hair and Zayn pushes into the touch, not knowing what he's asking for but asking for it nevertheless.

Louis pulls at his hair again, pulls until Zayn's neck is arched back as far as it will go, the column of his throat bared. Zayn can't do anything other than keen when Louis' teeth bite into the skin there, can't do anything other than whisper a choked 'please' when Louis' lips suck the sting away. Louis lets go of him, a smirk in the corner of his lips, barely concealed, and leans over Harry again, tracing the uncovered part of his face with his lips, mapping his cheeks and his nose and his mouth and his chin and his jaw, nipping playfully, randomly. His right hand settles on Harry's chest, over his heart, palm splayed, and Harry's breath hitches again, his hips rolling like he's trying to seek comfort from pressing into Louis' body, but Louis tuts and angles away, and Harry knows better than to follow, so he whimpers, brokenly, and tries to hold still again. Zayn can hear his blood rushing to the compass of his heart, thudding in his ears, and he can't reason how much of an effect this is having on him, how he's fucking leaking in his pants just from the sight of Louis, still fully clothed, looming over Harry, who's naked and desperate and so fucking beautiful that Zayn can't stand it, all long lines of muscle and sinew and flushed, damp, skin.  


'I know what you want, Harry, but you have to tell me. Tell me and I'll give you what you need. You've been so good for me, love, let me give you this,' Louis says, and Harry's fingers dig into the material of the armchair like he's trying to rip it apart, cheeks almost the same deep red as his lips.  


Zayn can't comprehend how Louis is clinging to his self-control in a way that is so masterful it seems effortless, with only the fondness of his smile and the gentleness of his eyes hinting at what he's feeling. He seems in no rush at all to seek any kind of relief, and it's baffling to Zayn until he realises that Harry is the only one Louis wants to tend to now, that Harry comes first, always first, in this as in all other things.  


'I want him, Lou, I want him,' and Harry's voice is utterly gone, wrecked, and Zayn knows this is happening tonight because they have no shows tomorrow, knows Louis wouldn't have risked doing this the night before a concert.  


'Tell me how you want him,' Louis replies, his fingers tracing the sharpness of Harry's cheekbones, gentle again, rewarding.  


Zayn doesn't expect Harry to muster enough strength for an answer, but from Louis' face he can tell that Harry's lack of response would be an impossibility, so they wait, and the silence burns with the heat of the crackling space they've created.  


'I want him inside me,' Harry says, words tumbling out like they never do usually, the usual pace of his speech forgotten, discarded.  


'What else?' Louis asks, unrelenting, merciless, and Zayn thinks he’s heard this before, but Harry replies before he can remember where.  


'I want to blow you until he's done, and then I want you to come inside me.'  


Louis forgets to pretend that he's not affected, his disbelieving laughter matching Zayn's, breathless. He kisses Harry again, messy, his hands cupping Harry's face.  


'You and your filthy fucking mouth, Hazza,' Louis says, grinning, and he lets Harry reach up to touch his face, Harry's hand covering his cheek, his jaw, long fingers brushing through Louis' hair, adoringly. 'Who gets to make you come then, hm?' Louis asks, trying to cover the waver in his voice with a small cough.  


'You,' Harry says, no hesitation, his hands finding their way under Louis' shirt, travelling up to the back of his neck and then back down to the waistband of his chinos, and Zayn wishes he could see the large expanse of skin disappearing under Harry's hands, but Louis' reaction to the touch is enough, the way he lets his hips roll into Harry's, the way Harry lifts his legs to wrap around Louis' waist, twining them at the knees instead of the ankles, because they're so long, and it must be a bitch of a position for his back, but he doesn't seem to care.  


Louis notices, though, of course he does, and he stands, trying to regain some sort of clarity, brushing his fringe to the side, and meeting Zayn’s eyes while his hand finds Harry’s, fingers wrapping around his wrist.  


‘Let’s move,’ Louis says, tilting his head towards the bed that seems to be waiting for them, inviting. ‘Take your clothes off, Zayn.’  


Zayn obeys, mostly to distract his trembling hands by giving them something to do, pulling off his clothes and letting them fall to the floor. Louis leads Harry to the bed, pressing kisses to his face, arms around him, hands rubbing into his back, soothing, before they move up to redo the knot keeping the makeshift blindfold together. It’s not until Harry’s lying on the bed on his back, under Louis’ appraising gaze, that Zayn allows himself to grab Louis’ shoulder, his hand curving around it, holding on.  


‘Louis, I...’ and his voice trails off, because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what either of them want from him, and it’s so much, too much, and he craves a cigarette desperately, craves something that would ground him.  


Louis seems to understand the chaos of emotion written on Zayn’s face, because he curls a hand around Zayn’s hip, tugging him closer and wrapping him in a hug, his lips whispering a kiss in the corner of Zayn’s mouth. The material of Louis’ clothes feels almost abrasive against Zayn’s skin, and he’s never felt more aware of his nakedness in his life, but he holds on to Louis, breathing him in, aware of Harry waiting for them on the bed.  


‘I should’ve talked with you before, but I hadn’t really planned it. I didn’t know how much he’d need it,’ Louis says, warm breath fanning over Zayn’s earlobe, making him shiver again. ‘I didn’t know how much you’d need it either, but here we are,’ and Louis presses their bodies closer together, until he can probably feel how hard Zayn is against his thigh, despite the pressure uncoiling inside him.  


‘What do _you_ need, Louis?’ Zayn asks, not sure if he’s allowed to, but Louis smiles at him in return, eyes unreadable.  


‘I need to give him whatever he needs. You know that. This is for him,’ Louis says, and Zayn understands that fact, but he still doesn’t know what to do, still doesn’t know if this is a good idea, if it’s a step too far.  


They all know how possessive Louis is, how possessive they both are, really. They’ve seen the marks more often than not, Liam politely averting his eyes, Niall sniggering, and Zayn’s gaze lingering. At the beginning of the tour, Harry had accompanied Zayn on a smoking break, and in the silent, smoke-filled calmness between then, Zayn had reached out, letting his nicotine-stained fingertips trace the shape of the lovebite on Harry’s neck. Harry’s sharp exhale had dispersed the smoke, breaking the spell, and Zayn had pressed his forehead to Harry’s temple, feeling the boundaries between them bend and distort. He’d known then that Louis would not have taken well to Zayn touching Harry, not with the weight of that sort of intimacy, and he knows now that this could change everything between them, and he doesn’t want it to.  


‘Maybe I should go.’  


Louis’ attention is on Harry again, and he’s kneeling in between his legs again, letting his hands wander from inner thighs to ankles. He doesn’t look up at Zayn, who’s standing awkwardly next to the bed, next to them, an outsider yet again, but Zayn can see the tense line of his jaw and it tells him that Louis is thinking about this, thinking about the consequences.  


‘You take care of him. When I’m...away,’ Louis says, whispers, really, and Zayn moves closer to hear him, letting his hand close over Harry’s knee, making himself part of their space again. ‘He trusts you and you’re always there for him when he needs you. He comes to you when I’m not there. It's you he needs then.’  


Zayn opens his mouth to speak, because he doesn’t want Louis to be jealous, but Louis looks at him and he doesn’t seem angry, shaking his head at Zayn before he can form any words of explanation.  


‘He comes to you when I’m not there, and I need you to be there for him when I’m not. We trust you with this, understand? I’m not sure if I’m going to let what’s happening now happen again, but he needs you now. It was always going to be you.’  


Harry is listening, biting his lip again, and that, combined with the impact of Louis’ words, makes Zayn forget how to breathe all over again. He has to look away from them for a second, just to gather his wits, and when he looks back he is met by Louis’ soft smile. It’s mental, how Harry turns loud and frenzied and filthy when he’s like this, and how Louis turns quiet and mellow while still holding on to every single inch of control he can. It’s a role reversal of sorts, a change from their everyday selves, and Zayn feels drunk on it, high on it, overwhelmed by it. He feels like he’ll never get enough of watching, of being here, next to them, between them.  


‘I’ll make him ready for you,’ Louis says, and Zayn thinks his heart’s never beat this fast before, thinks that he won’t be able to deal with this.  


He must be dreaming, lost in a fantasy world, and he’ll wake up, alone and empty and cold, but it feels real, Harry’s warm, damp skin under his hand until Louis gently pushes Zayn’s hand away so he can command Harry to move to his hands and knees. Harry obeys, of course, even though Zayn can see how shaky his limbs are, how hard his cock is, how he can barely breathe, let alone hold himself up. But he does, because Louis asked him to, and Zayn watches his back heaving with each breath he forces himself to take, while Louis moves away from him to get lube and a condom packet from one of their suitcases.  


It doesn’t take long, but it seems like Louis’ physical absence makes Harry even more desperate. He’s clutching at the sheets and making these sounds that Zayn doesn’t know how to react to, torn between wanting to fuck him and wanting to hold him, soothe him. Zayn looks to Louis only to find him standing a little away from the bed, quiet, not wanting Harry to know where he is, his lips curled up with satisfaction. When Zayn turns his attention back to Harry, he notices that Harry is begging, as much as his shattered voice will allow him, and the wave of arousal that takes over him with the realisation makes him suddenly match Harry in desperation. He kneels on the bed next to Harry and Harry moans, like the movement is promise enough, like it could offer him some relief. Zayn reaches out again, ready to let his hand map Harry’s back, but a firm ‘no’ from Louis stops him, hand hanging in mid-air before he lets it fall to his side again.  


Louis nods at Zayn before resuming his position on the bed, letting his body fold over Harry’s. He kisses the back of Harry’s neck, nuzzling into the damp curls, letting his weight linger for a moment, until Zayn is sure Harry’s arms are going to give, but they don’t, and Louis whispers reassurance, whispers compliments, before he moves away, letting his hands trail over Harry’s back like Zayn wanted to.  


‘I don’t want you to move, Harry. Can you stay still for me like this, love?’  


Harry nods his acceptance, his promise, and the atmosphere between them is so heady that Zayn wants to touch himself to offer himself some relief, but he is stopped by the look Louis throws him when he moves his arm. He has to dig his fingers in his palms to keep from touching himself, but he doesn't question the wordless command, doesn't even ask himself why he just takes it. He's too far gone to challenge Louis, too needy to stall the situation any longer, and Harry's worse than he is, barely able to breathe, choking on air, supplicant, his back bowed, spine and shoulderblades showing starkly under skin. Harry can't take any more delays, and Louis must know it; he kisses the small of Harry's back, tender, caring, and Harry's whole body shivers under him, Louis' hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise again, and Zayn wishes he could see Harry naked tomorrow, wishes he could count the bruises with his mouth, wonders if Louis would ever allow him to do that, if he'd enjoy watching someone else worshiping his marks on Harry.

Louis makes shushing noises, hands parting Harry's thighs as far as they will go without disrupting his balance. Zayn can watch him without being watched anymore, because Louis is too caught in observing Harry's every single reaction to him to care about Zayn’s presence, and it's freeing in a way, not having the weight of those blue eyes watching him.

Louis' hands dig into wielding flesh again, parting Harry's cheeks and just _looking,_ until Harry's wrecked by need, tears rolling down his cheeks again, free-falling from his jaw and diving into the pillows Harry's clutching at, until Louis shushes him again, smiling fondly, and Harry can't see it, but it makes Zayn's breath catch.

Zayn watches, moving on the bed to follow Louis' movements, all pretence of shame forgotten. Louis presses both thumbs to Harry's opening, fingers wet and slippery with lube, splayed over Harry's buttocks, just holding him like that, feeling the give without breaching him, and the sounds coming out of Harry's throat are unreal, and Zayn would worry about his vocal chords if he weren't so turned on by the noise, if he weren’t so jealous of Louis for coaxing those sounds out of Harry.  
Harry's trying to push into the touch, back arching, arms straining, and Zayn notices that Harry's legs are shaking, tremors running down his thighs. Louis clicks his tongue, displeased with the movement where Harry'd promised stillness, and Harry keens, fisting the pillows and sheets under his hands, trying to regain some control over his body. Zayn tries to make sense of the way Harry can just stop moving like that, even though it's probably driving him mad, but his head is just static, just white noise, no coherency left. Louis lets the tip of one of his thumbs press inside and Zayn draws in a shuddering breath when Harry cries out, pushing into the intrusion until Louis uses his left hand to slap the skin it had covered until then, and Zayn watches, watches the way Harry's body opens up for Louis' thumb, watches red rushing to the surface in reply to the sting of the slap. He's kneeling on the bed next to them, and he wants to reach out and trace the sweat that's broken over Harry's back, wants to feel the arch of Harry's body under his hands, wants to taste Harry, wants to slip his fingers inside him alongside Louis' and feel the heat of him.

Louis' eyes snap back to him and it comes as a shock and he realises he's probably let some of his thoughts slip out in his carelessness; he meets Louis' gaze again and Louis tilts his head, considering him, not moving, and Harry sobs, imploring, bringing Louis' attention back to him. 

'Do you want Zayn's fingers, Haz? Want both of us opening you up?' Louis asks, and he still doesn't sound affected, still completely in control, and Zayn wants to hear him close to losing it, wants to hear all that control crashing down.

Harry nods, unable to form words, and Louis beckons Zayn closer, and Zayn goes to him, reaching out a hand, letting Louis wrap his fingers around his wrist in a tight grip. Louis uses his other hand to coat Zayn's fingers with lube, and Harry's displeasure at losing the teasing pressure of Louis' thumb is loud. Zayn can see the tension in Harry's muscles, coiling them tight, and he knows that Harry's knees and arms must be aching by now, but he's probably too far gone to feel that pain, if he ever truly minds that sort of discomfort. Zayn's fingers are sticky with lube now, and Louis takes the time to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, driving Zayn's pulse mad.

'Give him two, he's earned it,' Louis says, voice soft but edged with the steel Zayn's become used to already, and Zayn presses his index and middle fingers inside Harry before Louis' even done speaking, letting them slip to the knuckle before he stops himself to listen to Harry, before he acknowledges the tight heat of him.

He gasps at the feeling, at the way Harry's body is gripping his fingers, at the way Harry's moaning, like Zayn's giving him what he needs, like Zayn's responsible for his pleasure now. It makes him feel drunk, his stomach coiling into knots, his mouth dry. He grabs at Louis with his other hand, blindly finding his arm and holding on, unable to tear his eyes away from where the length of his fingers' disappeared inside Harry.

Louis huffs laughter against Zayn's temple, nuzzling at his cheek. He wraps his fingers around Zayn's wrist again, pulling him out of Harry until only his fingertips are inside, and then pushing them all back in, and it must burn but Harry's just mumbling a litany of _yesyesyes_ and _pleasepleaseplease_.  


'Scissor them a bit,' Louis says, breath fanning over Zayn's cheek, and Zayn does, closing his eyes for a second at the pressure giving in around his fingers, at the realisation that he's stretching Harry open, that Harry's making all these sounds because of him now, that Harry's falling apart because of him.

He pushes in, deeper, twisting his fingers and then rubbing when he gets there, until Harry sinks his teeth in his own arm to keep himself from screaming. It seems to be Louis' cue, and there's no warning before two of Louis' fingers join Zayn's, and the shock of Harry's body opening up even further around the intrusion, just taking the burn, makes Zayn's hips stutter forward, his cock meeting the warmed bare skin of Harry's thigh and rutting against it, leaving wet tracks on it, until Louis stills him, the fingers of his free hand viciously digging into Zayn's own thigh until Zayn gasps and stops moving. The sound Harry makes sounds disappointed but Louis gives Zayn a pointed look that warns him against moving again.  


Zayn can't breathe for a few seconds, feeling Louis' fingers against his own, feeling the way they're both stretching Harry open, and hearing Harry beg for it with broken sounds, with the arch of his body. Zayn can feel Louis' fingers moving now, and he follows Louis' lead on instinct alone. He feels like he's plunged his head underwater, the rush of blood in his ears distorting all other sound, his heartbeat thudding in his chest, making him feel lightheaded. His cock twitches in the space between his body and Harry's at the thought of being inside Harry, at the thought of feeling that tightness so intimately, and he's never allowed himself to even fantasise about it before, but he doesn't think his imagination could have ever come close to the beauty of reality, because there are no words to describe the way Harry looks like right now, there are no words to describe how it feels like, to scissor his fingers inside Harry alongside Louis, to see the way Harry's trembling with desperation and need. Zayn cocks his head to a side, glancing at how hard Harry is before looking at Louis, eyebrows arched in question. He watches as Louis draws his bottom lip in his mouth, sucking on it for a second, thoughtfully, until he presses his thumb at the rim of Harry's opening again, pushing in and finding barely any restraint. Zayn stops breathing again, and then draws in a lungful of air, nearly choking at the sight. It seems almost impossible, and Zayn's thoughts are a mad whirlwind now, and he wonders if Louis' ever given Harry five fingers before, if he's ever given him his whole hand, and he can't help the way his hips roll again, his cock leaking precome. Louis looks at him, lips curved in a smirk, but Zayn can't muster embarrassment at his state right now.

'Can I fuck him now?' he asks, aiming for nonchalance but failing when his voice cracks, making Louis' smirk widen.

Louis draws his fingers out, and Zayn's follow, and Harry's shaking his head now at the loss, and Zayn wonders how empty Harry must feel as he looks at the way they've stretched him. Louis hands him a condom and Zayn rolls it on, impatient, a groan escaping him at the feeling of his fingers on his cock. It feels like too much, and he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, because he won't last five seconds if he fucks Harry now otherwise.

'Slow at first, yeah?' he asks Louis, and Louis moves away to let Zayn take his place between Harry's spread legs.

Louis shakes his head, his hand splayed on the small of Zayn's back, controlling, pushing him forward.

'No, I think we've gone past that. Give it to him all at once and fuck him as hard as you like until you come. I trust you can do that.'

There's a challenge in Louis' tone, and Zayn's hips snap forward in reply, cock catching on the rim of Harry's opening and making Harry's breath come out in a rush.

'I think I'll manage,' he says, and doesn't wait for Louis' retaliation.

He pushes in until he bottoms out, and Harry just takes him, opening up around him without any hesitation until Zayn's hips are cradled against him. Zayn needs to catch his breath again, because he can't acknowledge it, the way Harry's body’s given in to his, the way Harry feels around him, tight and warm and perfect. Zayn's hands slip over Harry's hips as they try to hold on to him, slippery and sticky with sweat and lube, Harry's skin damp under his. He settles into a rough pace, his hips rocking into Harry and Harry's meeting the stride. Zayn loses track of Louis for a few seconds, too overwhelmed by Harry to be observant, until he looks up from the enticing roll of Harry's hips, from Harry's hole stretched around him, to find Louis, naked now, at the top of the bed. He slots on top of the pillows in front of Harry, legs framing Harry's arms and Harry doesn't even take a second to think about it, doesn't need Louis' fingers curling in his hair before he takes all of Louis in his mouth in a move that is smoother than Zayn would have expected of Harry in this state. Louis lets his hips roll of the bed, deeper into Harry's throat and Harry moans around him like he's greedy for more, and Louis' panting now, fringe damp and lips parted and eyes ridiculously blue around the black of his pupil, eyelashes fluttering. His fingers tangle in Harry's hair, pulling, setting the rhythm, and then holding Harry's head in place so that he can fuck Harry's mouth. Zayn doesn't understand how Harry's able to take Louis in like that, to let him in and not even gag, to moan around him like he can't even bear it. He wonders how many times they've done this, if it took a lot of practice, if Harry's just always been a natural at this. Harry tightens around him, like the taste of Louis is as pleasurable as Zayn’s cock inside him, and Zayn just gives in to it, and it feels feral and raw and almost scarily intense. 

He’s never thought he’d get to see Harry like this, even though they’ve grown close since the first awkward months of knowing each other, when they didn’t quite fit together, didn’t quite match each other. Lately they’ve become more and more entangled, the three of them, and both Harry and Louis have reacted badly to it in the past, at Zayn getting too close, so Zayn’s never given it much thought, because it always seemed like too dangerous a path to tread. He’s here because of Harry now, though, because Harry wanted him, because Louis always gives Harry what he wants, and it’s too much, that they’ve allowed him in between them, in this space they’ve created around each other, and Zayn can’t think anymore, can’t do anything other than drown in the feeling of Harry like this, the sight of Harry like this. Zayn lets his hands run over Harry’s back, lets his nails bite in slightly, now that Louis’ too distracted to forbid it, and Harry responds to it beautifully, curving his back to push up into Zayn’s hands. Zayn’s hips are moving on their own accord now, pushing Harry onto Louis, and the sight would be enough, but the way Harry tightens around him over and over again is unbearable, and Zayn looks up, meets Louis' eyes, tries to form a question but stumbles on his words. Louis nods at him, and Zayn drives into Harry once more, twice more, hips snapping, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin almost deafening, and then he bottoms out again and comes, as deep inside Harry as possible, and Harry just tightens around him again, making it last forever, until Zayn slumps against him. Harry’s arms almost give out and he lets Louis slip out of his mouth, drawing in a few shuddering breaths when Zayn pulls out, until Louis cups a hand under his jaw, thumb brushing a caress over his Adam’s apple, tender yet demanding, reminding him, and Harry sets to work again, mouth wrapping around Louis, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Zayn watches them, speechless, until he realises how much his thighs are shaking, and he lets himself collapse on the bed next to them after he chucks the condom in the general direction of the bin next to the nightstand.  


'Fuck,' he says, eloquently, and Louis laughs at him, breathlessly.  


Louis' holding on to the headboard his back's pressed against, his hips leaving the bed on every upwards thrust, his fingers twisting in Harry's hair in a way that is probably painful, but Harry's moaning around him, unable to hold the sound in, tears on his cheeks again. Zayn reaches out and brushes along the side of Harry's face with his thumb, pressing into the hollow of Harry's cheek until he can feel Louis, and all three of them seem to gasp at once at the action, Louis letting himself slide deep again and holding Harry's head down until Harry's almost wheezing, breathing frantically through his nose but not struggling at all, and Louis pulls him back up and off. Harry looks like the best kind of porn, saliva and precome dripping from his plump lips, tongue licking at Louis, desperate for more, unwilling to let Louis go. Zayn is taken aback by Louis' self-restraint again when Louis moves away from Harry's mouth. He looks less in control of himself now, though, still unable to catch his breath, cheeks flushed with colour, cock hard and straining against his stomach.  


Louis grabs Harry's shoulders and turns him on his back, rubbing at Harry's arms to ease the tension in them. He presses his fingers in around the edges of the cling film covering the tattoo and Harry gasps, and Zayn wishes he could see Harry's eyes again, see the way they look, glazed over with desperation and need, barely a trace of green left. He's seen Harry after Louis and him had fucked before, the obscenity of his flushed cheeks and wide eyes and bruised lips, so fucking beautiful it had made Zayn fidget, made him eye the other boys uncomfortably, want uncoiling inside him, but now he's getting so much more than the aftermath, now he knows what Harry looks like with Louis in his mouth, now he knows what Harry feels like around his cock, and it feels almost like madness, this torrent of feelings inside him, and this is why he's never allowed himself to imagine it, because it was always bound to be too much to take in, too much to deal with.

Louis is draped over Harry now, straddling him, thighs framing his narrow hips. He's kissing Harry in a way that Zayn can only describe as filthy, messy, like he's trying to get his own taste licked out of Harry's mouth. Zayn has to bite his fingers to keep from moaning at the sight, because it's too much, and he wants again, he needs again, his cock trying to get hard again because he can't get enough of this, he'll never have enough of this. He doesn't understand how Louis can hold himself together, how he can go on being his normal self, how he can keep himself level-headed in public and not just touch Harry at all times. He can't even begin to understand how it must feel for them, the agony of hiding, of pretending none of this is real, pretending that they don't want each other like this, that they don't own each other like this. It's wrong that they have to pretend at all, and it makes Zayn even more furious now that he's been a witness to how utterly they are each other's, how they're under each other's skin. He could swear that they're breathing in sync now, shakily drawing oxygen in their lungs. Louis' allowed Harry to touch him, and Harry's fingers are reverent on his face, like he's trying to map his features, trying to memorise everything about them, shaky thumbs rubbing at Louis cheekbones and ghosting caresses over Louis' lips and then tangling in Louis' hair. Louis lets Harry arch into him and claim a kiss for himself, licking into Louis' mouth and sucking on Louis' bottom lip until Louis can't claim to be patient any longer.

'Gonna make you come now, love, you've been so good for me. Gonna give you what you need, yeah?' Louis says, voice husky in a way Zayn’s never heard before, and it feels so personal, so theirs, that Zayn feels like he’s intruding again, like he’s not supposed to be here, seeing them like this.  


Everyone around them has been a witness to how tight the bond between them is, and the lads are as aware of it as anyone, but no one's ever seen them quite like this. It's all on display now, Harry's need and how dependent he is on Louis to give him everything he wants, how much Louis owns Harry and how much he is owned by Harry in return. Zayn's joked around with Liam and Niall about how territorial Harry and Louis are with each other, how possessive they get when others are trying to break the boundaries they've set around each other, but now he sees why they are like this. They've joked around about how Harry and Louis belong to each other, but now he can see it for himself that they really do, and it's too serious, too breathtaking, to be amusing. Zayn's never seen anything like this before, has never been like this with any of his girlfriends, even though he thought he'd loved them; he's only come close to acting like this when he's around Liam, and even that falls short, because this is so consuming and overpowering and Harry and Louis are in it together, matching each other, fitting each other.

Louis slides down the length of Harry's torso, settling in between Harry's spread thighs. His hands cup the back of Harry's knees, folding his legs and then pulling him flush against Louis, Harry's legs hooking over Louis' shoulders. Louis doesn't waste time on a condom, drizzling lube over his cock and spreading it with his fingers, and then rocking his hips into Harry until he's all in, settling into a smooth roll that's not quick enough for Harry, who's begging for more. Zayn reaches out to touch Harry, and Louis doesn't stop him, so he rubs at Harry's tummy comfortingly, his thumb brushing over the cut of his hip. He can almost feel the heat coming off Louis' body, and he lets the back of his fingers touch Louis' flank as if by accident. Harry arches into him, into Louis, his hands twining around Louis' neck, pulling him closer. Louis almost bends Harry in half when he leans over him to get at his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, and the muscles in Harry's legs must ache by now, not to mention his back, but Harry doesn't seem to notice. He'll probably need to sleep all of tomorrow to make up for the strain, and the other boys will chuckle about it, but Zayn will never be able to think of Harry and Louis like this without remembering exactly how they look like, how they sound like, how they feel like. He'll never be able to forget how hard Harry is right now, how his cock is flat against his tummy, leaking over his skin. Zayn lets his fingers slip in the wetness, just for a second, and he brings his fingers to his lips and moans at the taste on his tongue, helplessly. Louis looks at him then, and he seems a bit more dazed now, a bit more lost, but still fully in control of this. Zayn doesn't know how to interpret what's written on Louis' face, so he goes back to touching Harry, to drawing patterns over his torso with wet fingertips.

'Kiss him,' Louis commands, and Zayn's eyes widen in surprise, heat pooling in his stomach, but he doesn't hesitate for long.

Harry responds to his kiss instantly, mouth opening under Zayn's, tongue licking at Zayn's, and Zayn sucks on his tongue greedily, trying to memorise what it feels like, kissing Harry, touching Harry, seeing Harry fall to pieces like this, body straining under Louis', arching up into him. 

Zayn keeps kissing him because Louis hasn't told him to stop, and it must overwhelm Harry, so many waves of sensation crashing over him, senses heightened by the blindfold. It must be driving him mad with lust, with need, and Zayn wants to see him, wants to see him come completely undone, wants to see both of them giving in, letting it take over them. He lets his hand map over the long lines of Harry's body until he reaches Harry's cock, ghosting a touch over it until Louis hisses at him to stop, and then letting his hand trail lower, letting his fingers make a circle around the base of Louis' cock, and feeling the way it stretches Harry open. It's a bold move, but Louis only curses and rolls his hips harder, faster, and Zayn can feel each thrust, can swallow all of Harry's sounds. Zayn can feel the tension in Harry's body, coiling him tight, and he squeezes around Louis, making him gasp.

'He's close,' Zayn says and turns his head to meet Louis' eyes.

Louis nods, has to catch his breath before he can say what he wants to say, and it makes Zayn painfully hard, seeing Louis' control slip.

'Give him a finger,' Louis says, and it takes Zayn a second or two to process the words, until he can hear Harry's _want it need it yes_ , until Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

'Are you sure he can take it?' Zayn asks, heartbeat out of control again.

Zayn tightens his fingers around Louis again, moving his hand up and down once, now that Louis' slipped out of Harry, waiting for Zayn to comply.

'He can take it, I know he can. He needs it.'

Harry's nodding frantically, pulling Louis down for another kiss, and Zayn joins in this time. Louis lets him, not without giving him a bit of a scornful glare at first, and then assuming control of the kiss, of the way their tongues meet in mid-air, dancing around each other, and it's the hottest thing Zayn's ever done, Zayn thinks, until he lets his finger slip inside Harry again, and Louis slots in right beside him, Zayn's finger curled around his cock in the grip of Harry's body, and it blows Zayn's mind. He's unreasonably close to coming again, and he rubs against Harry's hip and this time Louis lets him.

Harry's voice is raw, breaking into feverish moans and begging Louis to please let him come, until Louis says yes, and Harry's back arches into an almost impossible angle and he comes untouched under Louis and Zayn's gaze, all over his torso, and it seems to last for ages because he's spurting with Louis' every thrust, insanely tight around Louis' cock and Zayn's finger, until he sags on the mattress, boneless, breathing too fast.

It doesn't take Louis much longer, and he breathes out Harry's name when he comes and Zayn can feel it, and then Louis slips out but Zayn keeps his finger in a little while longer, adding another one to feel Louis' come inside Harry, until Harry's keening again and Louis bites at the curve of Zayn's neck and Zayn takes his fingers out.

Louis eases Harry's legs back on the mattress and collapses over him, his weight on his knees either side of Harry's waist, Zayn curling in on his side, trying to press into as much of them as he can, his arm sprawled over the curve of Louis' lower back. Louis is trailing sweet kisses over Harry's face, and Harry's nuzzling into him happily, smiling, and Zayn can't handle how beautiful they are together, how right they look.

Louis gently lifts Harry's head off the pillow to take the blindfold off, and both Zayn and him gasp at the sight of Harry's eyes, lashes wet and pupils blown, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he should look ridiculous but he looks beautiful, breathtakingly so, and Louis kisses him again, slow and languid this time, not rushing into it, but Zayn contents himself with watching, because this is theirs, their shared moment, their shared breath, their come-down. He ruffles Harry's hair instead, and Harry ends up laughing against Louis' lips, and he must be so tired, but he still grins up at Louis before looking at Zayn, cheek dimpled and eyes bright. Zayn presses his forehead to Harry's temple in reply to his gaze, kissing his shoulder, and Louis sighs but accepts it, his hand curling over Zayn's hip, thumb rubbing into skin.  


Zayn arches into it, because how can he not, in the state's in, and he ruts into Harry again, leaking against him again, and Harry looks up at Louis and doesn't need to say anything before Louis nods, and Zayn is momentarily confused, but then Harry's large hand wraps around him and tugs and Zayn knows Louis will never let him live down the sound he's just made, but he doesn't care. He mouths at what he can reach of Harry's old tattoos, careful not to accidentally brush over the new covered one, and then Harry's thumb rubs over the slit and Zayn comes, too quickly, too loudly, but he can't think, can't even fucking breathe. Harry's smiling at him when his vision clears, bringing his hand up so Zayn can see his come on Harry's fingers, and Zayn wants to lick it off but Louis is faster than him, grabbing Harry's wrist and bringing his hand to his mouth. Zayn thinks Louis is probably doing it to erase all trace of Zayn from Harry, but it's hot regardless of the reason, the way Louis curls his tongue around each of Harry's long fingers, sucking on the tips just to be a tease. Harry's cheeks are flushed again by the time he's done, and Louis kisses him, sharing the taste. Zayn is not ready for the sight of them putting on a show for him, opening their mouths and showing him the tangle of their tongues, Louis' still sticky with his come. It's beyond evil, and he says as much, and Louis laughs at him again and Harry goes back to nuzzling Louis' neck, pressing a kiss to his jaw, before letting himself sink back on the pillow, worn out. 

Zayn can feel his eyelids drooping, and he knows he should probably leave, but he can't seem to make his body move yet, so he holds on to them a bit longer. He looks down at the inside of Harry's elbow, and then it hits him, and he laughs, mortified.  
Louis stares at him in reply, and Harry's almost asleep, not bothering to react. Zayn taps the skin next to the tattoo, making Harry mumble something unintelligible.

'Not the best tattoo to have filthy sex to, mate,' Zayn says, shaking his head at Louis, and it takes Louis a second, but then he laughs as well, covering his hand with his mouth and looking properly chastised as well.

'Shit, I didn't even think of that. He'll be pissed with me for it,' he says, kissing along Harry's collarbone, and Harry's arms tighten their hold around his back in reply, even though he's not paying attention to anything they're saying.

'You'll be pleased with how much he blushes when he tries not to remember all this when he tells his mum he got a tattoo for her, don't lie.'

Louis has the decency to look slightly sheepish before grinning at Zayn, eyes crinkly, fingers tracing the tattoo on Zayn's chest.

'We're okay, right, Tommo?' Zayn asks, sounding vulnerable and hating himself for it. He thinks of Liam and what Liam would say about all this again. Liam doesn't know about how Zayn thinks of him, doesn't know why Zayn's been a right bitch to him lately. He doesn't understand it, and he most likely wouldn't understand this either.

Louis' eyes soften again, and Zayn buries his face in Harry's shoulder, unable to deal with Louis knowing exactly what he's thinking, but Louis just cards his fingers through Zayn's mess of a hair fondly, reassuring.

'We're fine, Z.'

Harry mumbles things again, lost in sleep this time, and Louis' attention focuses back on him; he presses a barely-there kiss to Harry's lips, and then brushes Harry's hair off his forehead, whispering soothing words in his ear that aren't meant for Zayn, so Zayn curls around them as much as possible, protectively, breathing them in, wishing he could keep them safe, keep them here, where they’re each other’s and no one can intervene. Louis seems to be quickly falling asleep as well, not caring much about showers or the like, and Zayn lets himself doze off, lets himself delay the moment he has to leave, the moment he has to return to the silence of his empty room and the smoke-tinged coldness of the thoughts that welcome him to bed every night.


End file.
